This Following Story
by Ghost Writer no. 3
Summary: /A next life/reincarnation story/ Memories can haunt. But it's worst when they aren't even our own. It's even worst when it feels like it is you.


This story I decided to do as a bit of a challenge, as well as try something different. Sometimes when I read 'next life' stories (if you don't understand the concept, it's the reincarnation of some of the characters. In Kingdom Hearts, it usually Nobodies and usually Roxas and Axel to keep their promise stated in the second game) and I noticed that 90 of the time, the characters somehow keep their original names plus 95 of the time, they look exactly the same.

So, I kinda thought…what if they didn't? What if they looked different, had mostly different backgrounds, and different names?

Here it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts series.

Author's Notes: This is the Prologue to another story I'm be working on. But I wanted to concentrate on two specific characters instead of the whole spectrum. I'm sure everyone can understand why after reading it. Oh, and if I say she unless other wised indicated with boldness (she vs. **she**), she is the main character and not another girl.

* * *

She was a perfect student, yet she did not try for it. Not really. Never tried hard for those high marks. Not like some of her peers. Some poor A+ students would study for hours to achieve that high at the loss of good sleep. Other students could pay attention, take notes, and only achieved mediocre grades through their whole academic career. But though she was a perfect student, she was certainly not a perfect person. A good person, but not perfect.

Her twin sister (fraternal, not identical) was perfectly sweet. Not an A+ student like her, but the other girl breathed life into various mediums.

In middle school, talks of bright future were already whispered and promised to these girls. The perfect student excelled in more then intelligence; she was vice captain of her Basketball Team in eight grade. At the end of that year, she was the Junior High Valedictorian (The Little Torian as named by the school), and already received the start of what would be the potential growing academic spending money for a universality.

She was a happy child. Her parents may not have been like the family on the old black-and-white shows, but it was normal and fair and they cared. Reliably cared. Her father may have had a wish for a boy, but he loved his daughters equally and gave plenty of words and humor and encouragement. Her mother was a stay at-home caretaker, but once was a teacher, leading to encouraging the girls to use their minds above all else.

She entered high school with hopes and dreams and promise of becoming anything she wanted to be.

Then the dreams came. They started in the middle of he freshmen year. They weren't bad, per say. But their images were so strange, almost distant. The first couple of dreams were blurry colors somewhere on a beach. She never set foot on a real beach to the ocean, yet she knew in this setting, it was a coast.

They were so subtle yet so warm. She blamed it on an over-active imagination. The first true dream, the one that felt anything but subtle started in front of a mansion she never saw with a man she never knew.

She was fourteen and remember when _he_ was created…she was created. She was something else. She was a boy. A boy who fought in a fairy tale world. Except, she was the bad guy.

Over the school year, the dreams still came. They were vivid and came in hot flashes. As with all dreams, they made perfect sense at the moment they were depicted. Afterwards, she knew none of it was real. They clung to her everyday and integrated in part of her life. She ignored them at first, thinking they were just a part of development or some weird psychological change. But they would not stop, they would not leave. Not every night contained a new vision, but two or four times a week a new part of the story unfolded. They were filled with explanations and non-truths. They all ran through her mind in a perfect line, like a reel of film without any other options besides play and stop. After five weeks, the first attack happened.

_He_ was a General of _his_ own kind, his own set of…creatures (Nobodies, Nobodies, Nobodies). The Samurais were _his_ to control. _His_ mission with _his_ elected partner was to take on creatures with liquidous bodies and solid yellow eyes (Heartless, Heartless, Heartless). This mission started by releasing these black monster onto a world with innocent. _He_ should be disgusted, but no, _he_ was not. _He_ could not feel, not the correct way. No, _he_ wanted what these monsters fed on; what these innocence had.

She woke up, her heart beating strong and tears of guilt eating down her skin.

Her school assignments were not quite as good as they could be, her grades started to slip, and she could not always stay awake in some of her classes. She would lock herself in her room with no waking reason to. She stayed above worry from many and lied to her friends, blaming it on physical problems instead of her psyche. But at home it was more noticeable, especially her lack of doing anything outside of her own private place in the house. Her parents did not know what to think; drugs, boyfriend, other. But it was fear. She was afraid of shadow monsters after her heart. She could not be that again. Never again. She tried to summon weapons that should belong to her, only noticing herself doing it when she looked down at her hand and saw nothing. She begin collecting key chains and hooked them around her belts, bags, and even books. Anything that could protect her. Monsters in her closet started haunting her again, but took on monochrome forms.

She passed the school year, but dropped from summer sports' camp. She did not want anyone knowing why she woke up at some nights in a panic. Her friends, including her best friend since they were both in ribbons and skipped rope, were simply brushed off. She needed sleep.

She usually knew it was not real. The story, the cosmology, the ghosts or undead; impossible. She thought she was insane. She should tell her parents. She really should. But how could she admit that this was not normal? It would mean she would have to say this was a problem.

It only got worst. So much worst when school started again. She hope with a repetitive pattern and books that held broad information, she could barely ignore it again and pretending to be fine. The dreams were now filled with more then nightmares fiends; _he _felt doubt. Doubts of who _he_ was. Why _he _did what _he _did. Why nobody told _him _the truth. And she could feel every emotions _he _experience, but it lingered in her because she did have the necessary component to experience the emotions.

She tried to reach out to classmates at school, but it felt so hard. She always loved her friends and now could see them everyday, but even at the educational establishment she cut them off. This school year proved to make her more withdrawn then before. She skipped lunch, then skipped classes. One time she skipped an entire day of school. But she had yet to get caught or reprimanded for it. Still a good student who still attended all her practices and games. In fact, the sport was probably the reason she stayed well. No, she could not loose that part of herself. That activity made her…her. Not anyone else.

It wasn't until her first fight did anyone pay attention to her outside of home . A boy made inappropriate comments about her; about how pretty she was and how pretty her little mouth was, only more vulgar. She did nothing to stop the harassment at first, showing him her disinterest. But then he touched her backside, only more vulgar.

He ended up with a bloody lip, a black eye, and a broken arm. She left with only redden knuckles. He had fifty pounds on her plus natural built testosterone enriched muscles. She only knew how to run and throw a ball into a hoop. She never learn how to take down a person bigger and stronger then her with no weapon besides her own body. Never knew how to use a person's limbs against them to spin around their frame, press the arm against their girth and twist.

But _he_ did.

The school had a no tolerance policy. Yet enough of a case for sexual harassment could be brought against him and the school. Besides, if he appeared like a victims, he would be scored by his peers. The shift it under the rug, not willing to loose the young man, a prized sprinter, and her, a prized baller.

Her grades finally fell at a steady B- to C+ range. They were enough to play so she did not care. She needed to keep playing. She became so aggressive on the court. It felt good.

Her parents wanted her to seek professional help (Actually, her mother wanted her to seek professional help, because no matter what, children should not break other people's arms. Her father bought her a new bike, a new CD player, and new CDs for it, then suggested the consoling), She brushed them off and simply said school was becoming a little harder and she was really trying. Her friends, two she knew in her sport, her best friend who now had butterfly barrettes where the ribbons once were, and a younger boy who's sibling was a friend of her own sibling, came by all at once at the please of various others.

She talked to them, assured them she was fine, and made promises of future meetings. But she lied.

She liked talking to them and intended to keep her promises. But she was not fine.

A forth of the way in the school year, the dreams became more fueled and filled. The boy with locks like starlight and hidden eyed haunted her, confused her. _He_ was becoming ever so curious and wanted questions answered. She started to have dreams within dreams, making questions for herself. She wrote over and over again his names. She doodled Oathkeeper and Oblivioun on ever piece of paper.

She got into another fight: This time with a fellow player. An older girl who never liked the idea of this girl making varsity at fifteen while only this year the older made it in to still be benched. It might not have been so bad afterwards except when others tried to break up the fight, her fist knocked out the center's teeth and elbowed the assistant coach's chest, nearly breaking a rib in the scuffle. She was suspended for the rest of the season and therapy was highly recommended (with the silent ultimatum 'or leaving the team'). She accepted without a fight. She did not want to fight anymore.

She told everything in confidence. She talked about the dreams. Why hide it since everyone though she was crazy?

The therapist did not think she was crazy. These visions all happened in sleep. They probably were not symbolic, as she clearly knew nothing of the symbolism in them. She was hooked up to sleep monitors, which proved these visions did occur only in R. E. M., so clearly these were not night terrors. What the therapist suggest was for whatever reason her brain was over-active when it should be resting more appropriately and her real problems; the lack of desire to leave home, the lower grades, and the aggression, came from the lack of deep sleep she needed at her age. Since it would be near impossible to correct any problematic in the dreams since no deep problem existed to cause them, they decided to correct the physical problems: Easily slipping back into sleep if she awoken. Her first try at drug would a dose of Ambiem, just to see how she took to it.

She would never get a chance to test if it worked. She started to take it. The therapeutic part of her treated included suggested interactions and reconnected with her family. After her second visit, she decided to spend some time with her sister. Her sweet, kind, twin sister. The quiet and gentle one. The girly one of the two. She never noticed how the two of them lost contact with each other. And they were always so close in elementary; holding hands down hallways and to school when they got older. The other school girl had become so shy and joined up with the school's theater crowed. She never was interested in it as her sister was never interested in basketball but in middle school they still made time for one another. Only in the last couple of years has their connection been lost. But her sister was always the follower. She realized if she wanted to re-established their relationship, she would have to make the first move.

The sister was not in her room this evening. When they were younger, they would color and draw together in a millions of picture books. But soon she became interested in outdoor actives and television shows while her sister stayed behind and became lost in sketchbooks and clothing and accessories. She waited and decided to actually pay attentions to some of these sketches. She only saw the artwork she made and graded at school.

She flipped through various booklets and journals. She eventually came upon a small note book and stopped on page five.

A small, black creature. It could be considered cute, with almost innocent yellow eyes and crinkling rabbit ears parted on a round ball of a head. It was all black and looked like a child.

She felt fear.

Her sister entered. She glared and the other and demonstrated the drawing as if it was narcotics. Her sister saw it, but was more upset with the intrusion and, 'why upset about a drawing and who said she could look at her sketches without her around?'

She gave it a name, the name.

The room went silent.

The sister soon broke in tears. She became angry and asked/screamed how **she** knew.

The twin's head shook and shook and shook until **she** said last year, **she **woke up and felt alone. Then people came. They were not kind.

She watched the fit and asked about these people. Her sister pulled out a sketch book from the side of **her** bed.

The first was a man with brown hair that neared to be a natural shade of pink, broad in shoulders and height. The next sketched contained a woman-curved in envious places and blonde hair slick back besides two arches. Both wore fake and twisted smiles.

The third drawing she stared openly for many moments. This man she knew well. This man she saw most in her dreams. Red like fire, tall like pyre. This one…a best friend she never knew, but had. Her opposite and equally. She knew all the names of the other two, but she only cared about all this one's names: Elected partner, Number VIII, Flurry of the Dancing Flame.

She asked her twin sister, "Who are you?"

The twin smiled sadly and flipped the drawing to a pale girl. Sad and beautiful, hair a washout blonde, colored in white besides two spots: Eyes so deep blue. Familiar eyes, but none she could name. She looked at her sister, with dark strawberry-blonde medium curls, swimming gray eyes and rounded glasses.

She asked her twin sister, "Who am I?"

The twin paused and smiled sadly, "I can guess, but I'm not quite there yet myself."

She confessed what she looked like in the dreams. Of being a boy she did not want to be. She could look at a mirror, and her cropped hair curled just a little to much, the color just a little too bright, the eyes just a little too light, and a form just a little too different, but it was _him_. She spoke of the bad guys and how _he _was one of them and about the scarlet friend and her questions of blades she did not have.

At the end, her twin hugged her and said, "I think we are suppose to meet."

She stopped taking the medication. But it was okay to have the dreams. Every since the imagines started she neglected her own flesh and blood. She should have noticed the first month when her sister fell asleep crying while cradling a soft animal for comfort, when her sister started to discard rainbows in favor of no-color in **her **wardrobe, and when her sister started to become lost in piles of paper.

Their parents noticed her more because she was the on being aggressive and loud and causing problems. Her sister kept **her** grades up an no call to home came from school about the other child. They never suspected.

She stopped taking the medication. But it was okay because it was so much better to sleep next to her other half.

Home began to have a balance. The adults quickly noticed and were glad for the change they saw in their children. Sister, especially twins, should stick together. They did not mind waking up two daughters in one bed. The mother thought it was adorable seeing her sporty girl giggle over color pencils and doodle stick figures over perfect backgrounds the artist doodled. The father loved seeing his pride and joy guiding his little princess out on walks to and from school, both blossoming a little more each day.

The dreams still came for both of them. But they could share without malice, without fear.

Her dreams, of course, were acidic and near dangerous compared to her sister's. Her sister's consisted of caring over a sleeping prince. **She** knew more then she did in the timeline. She asked about it, but the meeker shook **her** head and cautioned, "It is better _you_ learn like you did." And that was it.

The new year approached. The semester ended. She became worried. The dreams had changed. She met the boy without visible eyes again, but lost when he changed form. To…something or someone else. She now experienced memories of being a normal boy with normal friends.

She had to ask her sister again. The other seem torn. **She** told her it was the final act in a plan, but **she** did not know the ending yet.

She mentioned the dreams within the dreams: Of a boy named for the sky, who had friends named of the sea and sand and all other realms. Her sister pulled out a sketch of a happy prince with light brown locks like triangles. A strange intimacy filled her.

In the dream one night, she met her sister for the first time. Her sister nodded her head the morning after. They both knew it was soon time to share everything.

--

He was a Nobody, a boy without a heart. Was the dream sister one?

"Yes."

The sleeping boy was named Sora.

"Yes"

They were bound somehow.

"Yes."

What would happen? Would he survive or Sora?"

"…Yes."

Her sister could not see the end no more then her. But she remember what the girl in white told her.

"_You won't disappear. You will become whole."_

--

The new year went. School started. Halfway through the first day back from break, she had a heart attack. No one could explain how a healthy fifteen year old girl could have one. She went to the hospital and her heart was stabilized, but she would not wake. Brain scans showed activity, but she appeared to be caught in sleep. No one had an answer.

Except for her sister. Her sister pleaded with her parents, saying she would wake up, just give her time. Test were run, but nothing could be identified as a cause. The sister said just wait.

They did.

She had spastic moments of consciousness, sometimes with tears, sometimes with laughter. Mostly she slept.

The strongest outburst happens over two months in one morning. She opened her eyes and screamed high and long. A nurse came in and tried to settle her down but she kept crying, "Axel! Axel! Axel!" She screamed even after her voice came out horse. Near the end she calmed down with her heart rate running too fast. But as quickly as she awoke, she passing out. Her eyes still leaked.

Her sister came after school and held her hand. The girl wanted to spend the night and miss school the next day. Her parents relents: Not once did **she** ask to stay by her side and the hoped that **she** knew how to help her.

Through the night, her sister slowly became sleepier and sleepier. But **she** did not make a move to call a nurse. **She** knew what would happen and decided to let it happen.

Another nurse came in the next morning to find the sister suffering from a similar heart attack. It was easily stabilized, but both sister now shared a room and shared identical comas. No one could answer why.

The parents were called in quickly and prayed.

By the evening, both girls opened their eyes and…

Were fine.

No one could explain what happened or why one sister suffered for months while the other only suffered a day and what caused them to 'wake up' at the same time. The girls said nothing, just shrugged and smiled.

She wrote down what she could recall. The dreams did not return or replay themselves. Some things did still linger in sleep. She did have these strange feelings of warm sands beneath her toes, the smell of ocean breezes, and bright sun glowing her skin. It reminded her of the same she felt before the intense imaginings appeared. Sometimes she would have sleeping fantasies that felt like normal nightly metaphors. The last vivid dream consisted of this ending: _He_ smiled at a girl and even though _he_ did not know this girl, inside her was a girl _he_/she knew.

She was half a year behind in school and it took all summer for her rehabilitate herself to play any type of physical activity. She would also not graduate valedictorian. But neither did over 99 of children in school and most survived.

Her twin, her sister, her friend, her other half, the one who held her at night when she felt so cold and alone, had no answers to their future or if anyone else from this bizarre past was around. She did not have any idea why these dreams came.

Proud Rosaline told sweet Minerva that she really did not care.

* * *

I apologies for making Roxas a girl, I really do. BUT IT NEEDED TO BE DONE! However, my opinion person (the person who I say everything to) said it wasn't too far of a stretch, so I'm confident.

This is a prequel to a longer story. I just wanted this one to focus between both these two. The names…well, any suggestion in changes of names is always appreciated.


End file.
